Zhulan called out, "Eldest son's wife, eldest son's wife."
Lady Li was slacking off inside the house. Hearing her mother-in-law's shout, she jumped in fright, almost tumbling off the kang bed. Clutching her child, she asked, "Mother, what's the matter?"
Zhulan, supporting her husband as he lay on the kang, said to Lady Li, "Go call back the eldest and the second sons. Tell them to borrow an ox cart from Lizheng's home to take your father into town to see a doctor."
Only then did Lady Li notice her suffering father-in-law. She hurriedly ran off.
Zhulan stood up to fetch water, wringing out a cloth to wipe her husband's forehead, trying to cool him down. The second son's wife, Lady Zhao, arrived late, standing in the doorway, already in tears, looking as if she were at a funeral. This irritated Zhulan so much she snapped, "If you can't help, then go back to your room. Stop crying; it's bad luck."
Zhulan hadn't controlled her volume when she shouted, and Lady Zhao, wiping away tears, left. Zhulan couldn't be bothered to roll her eyes, her reputation as a mean mother-in-law surely growing louder.
Zhulan's entire focus was on the condition of her original husband. Her heart couldn't be more conflicted. If her original husband didn't pull through, a part of her would feel relieved, but she couldn't get past the guilt; it was a living, breathing life.
After changing the cloth several times, her husband's forehead was less hot. He murmured, "Water, water."
Zhulan quickly switched the cloth and went to the hall to pour water. Fortunately, it was Li Qiu now, not as hot as summer. The teapot's water, heated that morning, was now cool enough. She carefully fed him a bowl of water and only relaxed when she saw her husband settle down a bit.
She hurriedly climbed onto the kang, took out the keys, and found the Money Box, now no time to worry about wealth. She took out a few pieces of broken silver and counted several dozen copper coins, quickly locking it up again.
She had experience caring for the sick; when her grandparents were hospitalized and her father was busy, it was always she who kept vigil. She took out the blankets she had brought, and when everything was ready, the eldest and the second sons arrived with the ox cart.
The cart was lined with straw, which was then covered with blankets. Zhulan directed them to build up the straw walls higher on both sides to block the wind. After ensuring nothing was left behind, she handed Lady Li the food for noon and evening, locked the door, and then got onto the cart.
Riding in ancient carts was torturous. The country lanes were full of potholes, and the wheels had no suspension. The constant jolting was unbearable, even for someone not prone to motion sickness. Zhulan felt nauseated by the bumpy ride, which took almost half an hour to reach the county city.
Zhoujia Village was considered close to the county city. Zhulan dared not think how long it would've taken if it were farther away.
Curiously observing her surroundings, Zhulan realized that what she remembered and what she was seeing was different. Based on geographic location, where Zhulan resided was actually quite close to the capital. If they went any closer by cart, it would still take almost half a month. The transportation in ancient times was truly torturous.
The county city was bustling. This wasn't the ancient city one toured as a tourist; it was the real ancient times.
The book revolved around a heroine's rise against adversity. To facilitate the protagonist, the setting allowed women to establish their own households, seek divorces, and go out.
Along the way, Zhulan noticed many women on the streets—ladies, matrons, and those running stalls. She was pleased; she disliked the low status of women.
There were two medical clinics in the county. Zhulan didn't skimp and chose the best one. Perhaps it was the change of the season, but there were quite a few patients. Zhulan watched over her husband while the eldest son queued up.
Because her maternal grandfather owned a medicinal cuisine shop and knew some traditional medicine, she had developed great admiration for traditional Chinese medicine through what she heard and saw. It was a pity she had no talent for it; after more than twenty years, she only remembered a few recipes for health cultivation, and that was solely for her grandparents' sake.
The second son came running over, "Mother, it's father's turn."
Zhulan helped her husband up; his head was no longer so hot, which gave her some relief. Once she had him lying down inside, she grew anxious again. The doctor stroked his beard for a long time without saying anything, which was maddening.
The doctor released his pulse-taking hand, "Overthinking combined with catching a cold, making it more severe. It's nothing serious. I'll write a prescription for three days' worth of medicine. Go home, brew it, and drink it. Return for a follow-up in three days."
Zhulan, "...."
Overthinking? Zhulan didn't recall her family having anything to worry about.